


Drowning is no sin

by Lluvia185



Series: Make me feel [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abortion, Angst, Book 3: A Storm of Swords AU, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Drama, Dubious Suicide Attempt, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Internal Conflict, JaimSa Centric, Jaimsa, Menstruation, Miscarriage, Mistaken assumptions, Mixed POV, Mostly Canon Book, Non-Canon Relationship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Rare Pairings, Sansa is underage but aged up, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21673033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lluvia185/pseuds/Lluvia185
Summary: >>Third part of the 'Make me feel' series.<<Sansa chose Jaime and their marriage is turning out to be more successful than any of them could imagine.But the Gods are cruel and war is ruthless.Please, read the Tags. Sensitive issues ahead.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister (past), Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark
Series: Make me feel [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350049
Comments: 96
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The third part of the series is finally here.  
> As I annouced there're issues in this instalment that might be not everyone's cup of tea, so please, read the tags.  
> I started working again so my intentions are to update every two weeks or so, but I can't promise it. However, I've already outlined all the chapters, there will be 12 unless I'll divide some.

**Sansa**

Sansa swam away from the depts of her dreams feeling disoriented. It took her a few moments to knew where she was and how she ended there.

Lately, she had been having extremely vivid dreams, from which she woke up in the middle of the night and got little rest. Consequently, she had been much more tired than usual.

Those were the reasons why she was laying on her bed at midday, taking a nap. A leisure time she could allow herself now that they didn’t have guests anymore. Most of them had left after a few days, the last to go had been Jaime’s aunt, Lady Genna, who Sansa found almost amiable by the time she had gone, about a moon ago.

She stared at the canopy and sighed, she hadn’t gotten much rest with her nap, though this last dream had been different.

The others she remembered, at least partially.

Usually, she was lost in the dark, though the scenery kept changing. It could be the Red Keep, sometimes Winterfell’s crypts, after Jaime showed her the Hall of Heroes, she dreamt about them too. Wherever she was, she was always running away from an unknown menace and she always heard howls in the distance. But no matter where she was lost, she invariably ended freezing on a snowed field watching over Lannisport. Most of the time she woke up then, the lesser Ghost appeared at her side.

She did not envision the looming figure in the sky again, though.

However, the dream from which she just had woken up wasn’t one of those, in fact, she couldn’t recall anything specific about it, but for her racing heart, her flushing skin and a throbbing sensation on her womb.

All of them, manifestations she had become to associate with Jaime’s presence.

She covered her eyes with a hand, releasing a frustrated sigh. She needed – craved – her husband right then and there.

Except it was the middle of the day.

Sansa’s mind chose to betray her by conjuring the day they had ridden through Casterly’s estate lands and how they ended coupling on a barely concealed hollow lawn.

The problem didn’t rest on the hour or the location. No, the problem was that Jaime wasn’t in the room with her. In fact, if she wanted him, she would have to look for him and… and let him know she wanted him.

She had never done that.

She had kissed him a few times and he had taken the initiative from there, but nothing further. She hadn’t even brought herself to pleasure him with her mouth, though she had asked and learnt from Naeyah how to do it.

Sansa felt a wave of warm wetness flooding her womanhood after her mind sold her out again by picturing herself being brave enough to lick Jaime’s shaft. Instead, she licked her now dry lips sighing with wanting.

Mayhap, she could try to see if Jaime was on his solar.

* * *

He wasn’t.

Sansa bit her lips hesitant. The reasonable course would be to return to her room, except her heart pounded mightily and her skin sang with the notion of finding Jaime and let him know of her predicament.

She left their private rooms walking imposingly, while her whole body was humming with anticipation.

She asked a random servant who informed her, Ser Jaime was at the battlements. If they'd been in Winterfell, she would have returned to her rooms then, because there was no way she would have left the keep, cross the yard and look for him at the castle walls. However, the unique configuration of the Lannisters’ keep put the battlements only a few outside corridors away.

Ser Benedict and a few soldiers were with Jaime when Sansa found her husband. The master-of-arms bowed his head to her, and Jaime turned around.

“Don’t tell me,” Jaime rolled his eyes irritated. “There is some matter that requires my attention.”

“As a matter of fact, there is.” Sansa heard herself saying.

“Can it wait a few minutes?” He asked rubbing his forehead tiredly.

“No,” She replied before she could think about it, then blushed, adding quickly, “is urgent.”

“Very well,” Jaime groaned, “We’ll resume this later, Ser Benedict.”

The master-of-arms nodded, the soldiers stood and saluted him before he turned to her and they strolled back in silence.

“Is it the Steward or the Maester?” Jaime inquired after a few minutes walking beside her.

Sansa didn’t know what to answer since she had outright lied to him.

All of a sudden, she found herself second-guessing her foolish purposes, drawing him out of his duties, just because she wanted his hands on her.

She blushed furiously at her lechery, halting abruptly. Jaime’s chest bumped into her shoulder and he grabbed her upper arm to steady himself.

The heat of his hand over the thin cotton lawn of her lavender dress made her almost sigh with content. Every doubt and shame instantly fleeing away.

She tugged at his doublet and led him into the nearest place she could think of, a grain storage room of which she had the key. He called her name puzzled, but otherwise, let himself be herded into the storage.

“Is there some problem with the grain supply?” He questioned, frowning and skimming the sacks around him.

At his back, Sansa closed and locked the door. Jaime swirled with a deep frown on his face at the sound of the bolt.

“San—” Her lips pressed against his prevented him from finishing her name. He stumbled backwards, grabbing her upper arms in an attempt to recover his balance but only managing to pull her down with him. Fortunately, a sack of grain stopped their fall.

Half sat on a sack, Jaime's height was even to hers. Sansa took advantage of it, tilting her head to the side and stepping in between his legs. She kissed him repeatedly, trying to deepen the kiss but encountering with Jaime’s overwhelmed demeanour. She finally decided to take a different course of action. She followed the line of his jaw to his ear where she tenderly bit his earlobe, before trailing down his neck with wet, open kisses.

At some point there, Jaime caught up with her, groaning a blasphemy when her teeth scratched his skin. His right arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her body to his, his left hand found the back of her head and his fingers tangled on her hair.

“Wait,” He gasped, then forced her to turn her head and look back at him. “Was _this_ the urgent matter that required _my personal_ attention?”

She felt the blood rushing to her face, but her excitement was way past the point of embarrassment.

“Yes.” She asserted.

He kissed her mouth rather forceful, though she can feel him smiling.

“Damn” He cursed, grinding against her body, “How far have we come.”

Then they were kissing, deep and fervently. His hand dishevelling her hairdo, her hands swiftly undoing his doublet’s fastenings. Soon his mouth was on her skin, leaving red marks on her neck while his hand digged under the light material of her skirts.

She moaned and he cursed when his fingers met her soaking sex.

“You got wet for me, Sansa?” He demanded, licking her lips and pressing his forehead to hers, waiting for her answer.

“I… yes” She admitted once again.

He smiled and before she knew what was happening, he had switched their places and then turned her around, now facing the sacks while he stood behind her.

He left open kisses at the back of her neck and shoulders, while she heard him unlacing his breeches. Immediately after, his hands were raising the flimsy cloth of her skirts to her waist.

He pushed her back slightly forward and down to the sacks of grain which she grabbed, before he pushed aside her small clothes, entering her aching womanhood without delay.

Sansa sighed with completion once she felt his manhood deep inside her, he leant over and kissed the back of her neck before grabbing her by the hip and began to thrust into her.

Sansa enjoyed the friction such position gave her, but for once she was the one who found the pace too slow. She turned her head back over her shoulder to found Jaime with his eyes closed and his jaw set while he plunged into her.

“Jaime” she moaned, just the view of him made her walls clench. He opened his eyes, glazed and unfocused until they rested on her face. “I need... more.”

“Seven hells” He cursed.

He stopped his moves and grabbed her by the shoulder to pull her up. The back of her head rested on his shoulder while her body arched into an unnatural position. Jaime tried to sneak his hand under the neckline of her dress, but it was to tight. Sansa pulled at the laces on her side to loosen the garment, making enough room for his hand to slip under it and cup her right teat. When he pinched her nipple and started to thrust into her again, she felt her throat closing with pleasure, then a string of encouragement words fell from her lips.

The release she craved, crossed through her body faster than ever, leaving her boneless and dazed. Jaime held her sated body, leaning her over the sacks and grabbing her by the hip once again.

Sansa came out of her bliss by the sound of Jaime’s strained pants. He was fighting his need to ram into her while he waited for her to join him back. His head was resting between her shoulder’s blades, she could feel his warm puffs through the cotton of her dress, his left hand holding her hip in an iron grip she knew it would leave marks on her skin. She raised her arm behind her, cupping the back of Jaime’s head. He pulled his face up and she turned her face to kiss him. He let go off his grip to caress the flesh of her arse and finished their kiss pulling at her bottom lip while slapping her arse.

Sansa gasped unprepared and wide-eyed yet, somehow, thrilled.

Her whole upbringing told her she should be ashamed and repelled by such an occurrence, yet her walls fluttered around Jaime’s manhood and she heard herself moaning when his hand smacked her arse a second time.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since our first bedding.” He confessed, slapping her a third time before straightening himself up to resume his thrusts.

Sansa grabbed the coarse fabric of the grain sacks, bracing herself for what by then she knew it would be a rough coupling. One that despite everything she’d ever been taught, she would thoroughly enjoy.

The sack's fabric started to sting the skin of her forearms by the constant friction of her body with each of Jaime's penetrations, yet the elated sound of his grunts made it worth.

She groaned when he picked up his pace, feeling herself near a second release but not enough to catch up with him. He noticed and curled his left arm around her waist, dipping his fingers to the bud at the apex of her sex. He stroked it swiftly, making her knees buckled reflexly.

"Gods!" She swore. Jaime let out a strangled laugh, picking up to a blistering, rough pace while he rubbed her bud.

She peaked for the second time just a few moments after Jaime growled and grunted his own. He embraced her tightly by the waist, holding her half upright while her legs shook, and she mewled his name through her release.

“This is by far,” He kissed her shoulder a moment later, “the best urgent matter I’ve attended recently.”

Sansa left out a chuckled among her pants of exertion, feeling his smile against her shoulder.

“Glad to be of service,” she japed back while he stood up and stepped back.

They tidied themselves in complicit silence. He tightened the lacing of her dress and she the fastenings his doublet. She combed his sweaty, tousled hair with her fingers, however, there wasn’t much Sansa could do about her own dishevelled hairdo.

They left the storage room and parted ways to resume their respective duties.

Sansa walked back to her study feeling light-headed and contented. She surveyed the next day’s meals, smiling almost silly when she read the roasted duck with lemon sauce.

Her sixteen's name day had been 10 days before, Jaime took it almost as an offense when she only mentioned it two days prior to the day. According to him, as a Lady of the Rock, they should have celebrated some kind of feast. But after had just freed themselves from his relatives, Sansa didn’t find the idea of meeting more Western lords and ladies very appealing.

Instead, Jaime hijacked her meals, planning a banquet just for the two of them. She didn’t know how, but he managed to include more than a few of her favourite dishes, including lemon cakes.

The first ones she ate since she left Winterfell.

Sansa had tried to have them for the feast with the Lannister’s womenfolk, but the dessert chef told her they didn’t have any lemons.

Sufficed to say, she’s been delighted with the cakes and quite _grateful_ to her husband.

The memory of Jaime walking naked around their bedchamber with a plate of lemon cakes on his hand while she waited equally naked on the bed, made her cheeks tint pink.

Sansa finished her meal plans, then went over the list of their food supplies before send for her handmaids to prepare her a bath.

She was deep in thoughts about their poultry supplies when she entered the bath, so at first, she didn’t notice the exchange of looks between the maids. She was standing on the tub, ready to come out of it, when she finally became aware of Naeyah inspecting her and then glancing at Shella.

“Is something… amiss?” Sansa demanded while searching her own naked body, expecting to find some mark or imprint Jaime might have left on her.

“No, my lady,” the younger maid hurried to deny, two of her black curly locks escape of her head-scarf when she shook her head. “Sorry, my lady.”

But despite her apology, she shared another glance with Shella.

“Then, what is it you are looking at?” Sansa snapped back, feeling rather self-conscious.

“Pardon ‘er, me lady” Shella spoke up. “It’s me fault, she is lookin’ for de signs.”

“What signs?” She asked, still standing on the tub and starting to get cold.

“Babe signs, me lady.” She replied, self-evident.

“Oh,” Sansa nodded, then look down at herself. “Oh! You mean… Oh.”

“You missed your last moon’s blood, my lady,” Naeyah supplied shyly after Sansa’s bark.

Sansa realized she didn’t even think about her moon blood, in fact, she couldn’t recall when was the last time she had it.

She extended her hand to Shella to get out of the bath while she racked her brains to remember when the last time was. Naeyah helped her dry her skin and wrapped her in a robe to sit by the fire. Looking at the maid's face she finally remembered. It had been during their journey from King’s Landing to Casterly Rock, but that happened over two moons ago.

She didn’t miss her moon's blood once but twice.

Meanwhile, Shella was talking behind her, while she combed her hair.

“… many reasons, me lady, thence de signs.”

“What are the signs?” Sansa requested her.

“Ye filled out a little, me lady, that’s one.” Shella provided her, combing the ends of her mane.

Sansa knew that already, she had been eating better and with more appetite since she arrived at Casterly Rock, but she had attributed that to the fact of being out of King’s Landing and her constant state of fear. Her old, frayed dresses were now too tight to wear them anymore.

“And recen’ly, you been tired out, that’s anoder, me lady,” Shella kept tallying.

Again, Sansa had noticed this but had blamed it on her recurrent dreams. She looked down at her body as if she could find a definitive clue imprinted on her belly, but of course, there was nothing.

“Ar’ yur teats sore, me lady?” The older maid asked her, Sansa shook her head.

“I think they are fuller, though,” Naeyah supplied, dabbing some perfume on her lady’s wrists.

“Wha’ abou’ queasiness or retchin’?” Shella continued, Sansa was about to shake her head again but paused at the last moment.

“I couldn’t eat the bream,” Sansa remembered.

They had it for their midday meal a few days ago. But it had tasted foul, as it had gone bad. Jaime however, had found it perfectly fine and ate it without a problem.

“I think you’re with child, my lady.” Naeyah beamed at her. Sansa smiled back rather forcefully, too overwhelmed with all the ramifications to be happy about it.

_It’s too soon._

She kept thinking that, over and over, while her maids helped her getting dressed.

_Jaime doesn’t care for me yet._

She pleased him, that much, she knew. She even thought he liked her, but not care. She needed him to care for her to be safe. Or as close as she could ever be.

What would protect her after she gave the Lannisters a babe with Stark’s blood? An heir to The North?

Would they take the babe once it got out of her belly? Would they leave it with her for a few moons, maybe a few years and then ripe the child from her arms? Take it to King’s Landing to be raised as a Lannister by Cersei or Tywin? Live under the cruelty of Joffrey?

_Too soon. Too soon._

_Jaime wouldn’t fight for me yet. For our child._

Her child. She let herself think of it for a fraction of a second. She adored babes, she always wanted them.

Now she was terrified of the prospect.

Scared of her child would be turned into a pawn just like her, of not being able to see it grow, of Lord Tywin taking it away from her, of Cersei or Joffrey killing her after the babe was born.

* * *

She barely slept that night. Jaime breathed heavy in his sleep right beside her while she agonized about the impending future it might be growing inside her.

If she had known what the morrow brought, she would have slept for a hundred years.

Maester Creylen interrupted them while they broke their fast in their solar. Neither of them paid much attention to him until he insisted Jaime had to read the parchment he was trying to give him, and it had to be then.

Jaime frowned at Creylen and took the roll from him. The seal stamped with a hand was unbroken, yet somehow the Maester seemed very sure its contents were urgent.

Jaime opened the seal and skimmed the parchment's contents, his frown deepened, and Sansa noticed how his eyes went back to the beginning to read it a second time. She also noticed when he finished it, though he didn’t look up from it. He tightened his jaw and she knew whatever the content, it had angered him.

“Something happened?” Sansa inquired softly.

Jaime finally looked up, though not at her but at Maester Creylen, who somehow already knew whatever news came from the capital. They shared a grave look between them before Jaime glanced at her with worry.

Jaime’s look gave Sansa a sinking feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, she dropped her cutlery and yanked the parchment from his hand.

There were just four sentences, but she couldn’t make sense of it.

The scroll kept shaking in her hands and the black words blurring without making any sense. Finally, she read it out loud, her voice faltering and not higher than a whisper.

‘ _The Freys and the Boltons had taken care of our northern problem. The army of the North is no more. Neither is its king, his mother, nor most of its rebel lords. Edmure Tully was captured, but the Blackfish was absent._

_Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King._ ’

“I don’t…” Sansa tried to stand up, she stumbled, supporting herself on the table. She heard her name being called, it sounded so far away though, and the air… something was wrong with it, it was too thin.

 _‘The North is no more.’_ the parchment said. ‘ _Neither is its king, his mother…_ ’

“They are dead.” She uttered quietly and detached. The words felt foreign in her mouth. “They are dead.”

Then everything turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the RW did happen, sorry!  
> Let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> I'm a little anxious about this chapter, Sansa is going through horrifying grief and it's quite different from canon, but her circumstances are very different and so I hope it doesn't feel OOC. There is also a range of emotions and issues that I hope I managed to capture properly, if not I'm sorry.

**Sansa**

Her eyes fluttered open, the sunlight hurting them.

She didn't wake up as much as she entered an estate of awareness, an unwelcome one as it happened. She would much prefer to stay in her dreamwine’s numbness, where she could forget her family was dead.

It had been three days, maybe four. She couldn't recall it with clarity.

At some point, the days had merged with her tears and the dreamwine's doses till the point she couldn't tell them apart anymore.

Her body hurt, everything hurt, really.

She wanted to turn on the bed, escape from the sunlight and came back to the dreamless stupor, except she couldn't move. She was so exhausted that even blinking was an effort.

Three or four days ago, she had woken up confused, blissfully unaware of the news for a few precious seconds, before everything had crashed down on her. She had sobbed and wept until her voice turned raw and hoarse, and the Maester had dosed her with a generous cup of dreamwine and poppy to put her to sleep. 

The tears hadn't stopped since, though they had turned silent. Nor the oppressive pain in her heart had lessened.

She turned her head and find the designated unknown servant dozing off on a chair.

_She should be dismissed._

The fleeting thought passed through Sansa’s head, but she didn’t really care.

Someone had ordered she was surveyed by a servant at all times. Sansa turned her head to the opposite side, not wanting to wake up the neglecting maid. Every time they noticed she was awake, they wanted something of her.

Eat, dress, undress, clean herself, comb her hair, stand up… She didn’t care about any of those things, she just wanted to be left alone.

How could she eat, dress, walk… while they were dead?

All of them were dead.

She was alone and all she wanted was to die too.

The door of her dressing room opened, and someone came in, another servant Sansa guessed. She closed her eyes facing the opposite side of the bed, pretending to be asleep.

“Tya” One of the maids whispered.

“Oh.”

“Ye hav’ to watch the lady.” The first one warned her.

“She’s asleep.” The maid defended herself, “She’s always asleep.”

“She’s only hav’ dreamwine for days,” The other explained, “Maester said we’ll hav’ to force ‘er to eat soon.”

“Fancy highborn, hav’ to be forced to eat.” Tya scoffed.

“Her family hav’ been butchered,” The first one stated, “Even ye’d be queasy after tha’.”

“Her family ‘ere traitors.” The other maid reproached.

“Even traitors don’t deserv’ wha’ the Freys did to them,” She condemned, “Ain’t right, butcherin’ em under their roof. They’re accursed those Feys.”

“Mikken sai’ they threw the lady’s mothe’ corpse into the river,” Tya said lowering her voice. “Ye think is true?”

“They sayin’ all kind of horrible things,” The other maid whispered back, “Wha’ folk sai’ they did to the Stark boy… _horrible_.”

“Ye think they really put ‘is wolf head in ‘is dead body?” A morbid fascination impregnating the maid words.

“It’s viler than tha’,” the other maid whispered complicit.

“How can it be?” Tya asked with obvious interest.

“I hear’…” She vacillated, “I hear’ the Bolton lord gave the Stark boy, _Ser Jaime’s_ regards righ’ before stabbin’ im.”

“ ‘is own good-bro–”

“ _Get out_.”

It was barely a whisper, but the two servants yelped startled. They turned their heads to the bed where Sansa was still facing away from them.

“My-my lady?” The one her name she didn’t know asked tremulously.

“ _Get. Out_.” She repeated louder, articulating each word with perfect clarity.

“Ye-ye must be… hungry…” The girl insisted though.

Sansa stretched out her arm, grabbed a cup someone left on the side table and threw it at the maids’ general direction.

The girls shrieked and scurried away through the dressing door.

Sansa stood up, wobbling like a newborn fawn. She was weak and the room spun around her with every step she took but she managed to reach the dressing room. She didn’t want them back, or anyone else for that matter.

She took the tub ladle, closed the servant’s door and jammed the handle with it. Sickly and exhausted she pressed her forehead against the door.

She inhaled slowly, unsteady, trying to get some air, but her breaths were coming in short painful puffs. It felt like a fist was viciously gripping her heart, as if the Mountain had ripped through her chest and was yanking her heart out.

She whimpered in pain, it sounded pitiful even to her ears. Her knees gave up then and she slumped on the floor. Bent over herself, gripping her chest and wondering if that was what one felt when you drown.

_Stupid, stupid little dove._

It had happened all over again. How stupid could she be? How many times the world had to show its vicious cruelty before she’d learn?

She trusted him, _him_ , just like she had trusted her.

_No, no like her. You didn’t give yourself away to her._

Her skin crawled with revulsion.

She scratched her arms as if she could erase the phantom imprint of him over her skin. Instead, her mind conjured his grunts and moans, the lustful words he had said, his sweat’s sharp scent, tarnishing every single one in her memory, turning them into something vile that sickened her.

She felt nausea rising until she was retching on the floor. There was nothing in her stomach but the reddish remains of her last dreamwine’s dose, which made it even worse, because her throat and stomach kept spasming without nothing to expel.

Her arms hurt just from supporting herself, her skin was clammy and her mouth tasted awful. She let herself fall to the floor, lying face up just right next to her vomit.

A sob broke through her and then another, and another until she was bawling on the floor.

Weeping for Robb, for mother, for the dozens of northerners that had met the same fate as their King. For Brienne and Podrick, who she might’ve sent to their deaths. For father and Septa Mordane and Vayon Poole, for the unknown fate of Arya and Jayne. For Bran and Rickon and Maester Luwin. For Lady and Nymeria. For Grey Wind and Shaggydog and Bran’s direwolf which she never found out if he got to name.

There was no one left. She was the last Stark.

Except she _wasn’t_.

They had taken that from her too. They put a cloak on her and robbed her name.

_Sansa Lannister_.

It was befitting though, she had betrayed her father for Joffrey and Cersei and had sold herself to Jaime while he plotted Robb’s death.

A traitor and a whore. So fitting for a Lannister.

She let out a manic laugh. They finally had taken everything from her.

Her family. Her home. Her country. Her innocence. Her safety. Her dreams. Her name. Her maidenhood.

Her body felt now foreign, sullied by _him_. They had taken that away too. Her self-worth. Was her sanity next?

She turned her head, she was laying on the floor next to her own vomit, it didn’t feel like a stretch. Just by looking at it, a new wave of nausea hit her. She fought to turn face down, kneeling on the floor, though there was nothing else to retch. Her body trembled with the effort until she managed to spit some yellowish bile.

She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her hair falling greasy around her face.

She glanced at the bile on her hand.

_No._

_No, no, no._

There was something _else_. There was _something_ left.

Something far more precious than her wits or her dignity. Something growing inside her like a tumour.

Her mind conjured Joffrey’s smile when he sentenced her father to death, and she felt sick once again. Had he had been evil from the womb? Was a monster just like him growing inside her?

She pulled at her nightgown, bundle the fabric under her breasts. She examined her belly, but it didn’t look different at all.

_Would my babe be a monster?_

But it wouldn’t be her babe, would it? It would be a Lannister.

They’d rip it straight out her womb and make it one of them. They’d raise it despising the North and the Starks.

She turned her face to the bedchamber, a soft sea breeze waving the drapes.

Sansa imagined herself standing up, walking towards the balcony and throwing herself over the railing.

Hundreds of feet over the sea.

Would her body crush against the water? Would she die instantly, or would she drown in agony?

It seemed very easy, but something in her refused the notion. There was something she wanted more than a way out.

_Vengeance._

She wanted to spat on their faces and crush their bones with her own teeth. She wanted Cersei to be ripped limb by limb while she watched Joffrey and Jaime being skinned alive. She wanted to see them fall and meet the most painful end. She couldn’t see that if she jumped to her end.

Sansa would never know if the sunlight glinting over the bottles gave her the solution, or if her mind eye had conjured for her.

She stood up and wobbled towards the perfume bottles, taking the one she knew it didn’t contain any perfume. She took it and walked out of the dressing room into her chamber. She didn’t know how much was the proper dose and she didn’t really care, she only hoped it was enough.

She sat on the floor beside the bed, uncorked the bottle and drank it all.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello
> 
> Sorry, it took so long for this chapter to be posted, the holidays were very hectic and I work through most of it. Now I'm balancing work and studying again and is very time-consuming.  
> I wanted to post a longer chapter but that would delay it longer so I opted for a shorter one and I'll do my best to post the next one soon.  
> Anyway, this chapter will solve some of your questions and I'll say enjoy it but _the angst._

**Naeyah**

It was around midday, Naeyah was eating in the kitchens with Shella and her daughter - Mya. They had been taken turns to take care of Lady Sansa through the night, they had been doing it since the news of Lady Sansa’s family had arrived, per the medicine man’s orders.

It pained Naeyah to see the Lady so distressed. As the days went by, she looked more and more like a hollow body with a vacant, distant stare. Everyone had expected Lady Sansa would get better in time, but it didn’t seem to be the case. The old medicine man had told them that if she kept refusing to eat, they would have to force her.

Naeyah was finishing her meal when they heard the maids running down the stairs. One of them was screaming, the other just running after her. The cook told them off, but one of them began to tell her tale about the mad lady throwing things at them until Ellyn shut them off with a threatening stare and a cup of strong wine for each.

“You’ll ‘ve to go up again,” Ellyn addressed Shella and Naeyah. Her gaze shifted between the two women, before handling over the Lady’s chambers’ keys to Shella.

Naeyah knew Ellyn didn’t like any of them, they were both foreigners in her eyes, regardless of where each of them came from. She disapproved they were the ones acting as lady’s maids instead of any other local women, but Ellyn couldn’t go again the Lady’s wishes, in that regard at least.

“Maybe she just wants to be alone,” Naeyah suggested timidly.

Ellyn pursed her lips with disapproval.

“Maybe, bu’ Ser Jaime commanded us to follow Maester Creylen’s orders” Ellyn countered. “So, stop arguin’ and do as you’ve been told.”

Naeyah nodded, recoiling a little under the older woman harsh stare, she followed Shella out of the kitchens.

They ascended the narrow servants’ stairs that led to the Lady’s dressing chamber. The older maid knocked on the door and called their lady, they waited a few moments but there wasn’t a response.

“Lady Sansa?” Shella repeated, again with no answer.

She tried the doorknob next, but the door didn’t budge. Shella shared a concerned glance with Naeyah before trying to open the door once more with the same result. The younger maid joined her efforts, pushing the door with the weight of her body.

“Ther’s somethin’ blockin’ de door,” Shella realized, her voice trembling a little at the end. “Go aroun’ and try de front door.”

“But–” The servants didn’t have permission to enter through that door on their own.

“Go!” Shella hurried her, the concern more evident as the time went by.

She nodded, climbing down the stairs, she walked fast through the servants’ corridor till she reached the hallway that led to the family’s chambers.

Once she was in front of the Lady’s room door, Naeyah looked around hesitantly, though no one else was around at the moment. She knocked and called her mistress before trying the doorknob. There was no answer this time either, but the knob did turn without resistance and the door opened with a soft squeak. She glanced back once again, before peaking inside the chamber.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary, at first sight, so she pushed the door further open and stepped inside.

“My lady?” She asked, taking a few steps further in.

She noticed then the unmade but otherwise vacant bed, which made Naeyah’s heartbeat pick up worriedly. The young lady hadn’t left her bed since her family’s news arrived.

“Lady Sansa?” She called her louder, her voice failing a bit at the end.

After a few silent heartbeats, a soft muffled whimper answered her.

Naeyah crossed the room guided by another pained moan. She walked around the bed to find Lady Sansa kneeling on the floor. Her upper body was supported against the side of the bed, her right arm was placed on the bed, fisting the sheets, her left hand pressed against her lower belly.

Somehow the dark puddle right under Lady Sansa's body was the last thing she noticed.

The redhead raised her head when Naeyah approached her.

She was awfully pale, to the point her lips were turning white, her brow was peppered with sweat beads and her whole face contorted with pain.

“What–” Naeyah stuttered, frozen in place for a moment. She extended her hand towards the young lady, stopping just before she could touch her. “I’ll–” She started again, then nodded quickly and turn around for an aid that wasn’t there. She glanced back at the young woman before a distant knock made Naeyah’s eyes drift to the opened Lady’s boudoir’s door.

Shella was still out there.

The young maid crossed the door, wincing at the foul smell of sickness that welcomed her in the next room. She heard a new knock and walked towards the servant door. The ladle they use to rinse Lady Sansa’s hair during her baths was jamming the handle. She pulled it out and the door opened, revealing Shella at the other side.

The other maid opened her mouth but closed it quickly after peering at Naeyah’s face, who turned back hastily to the lady’s chamber. Shella rushed after her, following into the room until the Lady’s figure came into full view.

“Oh Gods,” Shella muttered stopping dead on her tracks. She shared a worried glance with Naeyah before finally came close to Lady Sansa. “Wha happened?”

“I–I _had_ to.” Their lady avowed, the conviction on her voice strained by pain.

Shella searched Naeyah’s eyes again, this time with a frown on her face, while the younger maid shook her head. Lady Sansa uncurled the hand she was resting on the bed, revealing an empty bottle.

“Oh, may de Seven protect us!” Shella exclaimed this time, a hand covering her mouth.

Naeyah was just – confused.

She knew that bottle, it was hers. Shella had made the concoction for her when she thought Podrick and her might… but – but he left before anything happened and she didn’t get to use it.

Now it was empty.

“I don’t– I don’t understand.” She voiced her puzzlement, her eyes fixed on the puddle of what she suddenly grasped it was blood. A lot of blood.

“There… there was no other… way.” Lady Sansa panted with noticeable exertion.

Shella crouched down placing a hand over the lady’s forehead, then hold her face with both hands to check her eyes.

“I thought– I thought you wanted a babe.” Naeyah insisted, unable to understand the woman’s action.

“It’d never be… mine,” Lady Sansa gasped, holding her abdomen with both hands. “It would be _theirs_ … their monster.”

“But–”

“Me lady,” Shella interrupted with a commanding tone. “Ye took too much.”

“I didn’t–” A new wave of pain made her bent over herself. “I had to be... sure.”

“I don’t know if de Maester…” The older maid mused out loud, then turned back towards Naeyah. “She needs a midwife. Go ba’ down to de kitchens and tell Ellyn, mayhaps…”

Naeyah nodded absently, her mind still trying to grasp what has transpired, but before she can give the first step, she felt a cold hand grabbing her wrist.

“Wait,” Lady Sansa said. She looked up to her and then to Shella. “Before… I need to know.”

“Me lady?” Shella asked her, her frown deepening.

“Is it… is it–” She hesitated briefly, trying to choose the most suitable word. “…gone?”

“It’ll be soon enugh.” The older maid explained looking down at the dark blood on the floor.

“Then… close the door,” Lady Sansa ordered Naeyah “and... wait.”

“Me lady!” Shella exclaimed alarmed. “You can’t. I’s too risky, you could blee' out.”

“I _won’t_ … bear his monster.” The lady remarked, her grip on Naeyah's wrist tightening.

“It can’t live.” Shella tried but the lady’s face was determined, so she looked at Naeyah and nodded defeated.

Lady Sansa released her, and she walked to the chamber’s door and closed it. Meanwhile, Shella convinced the lady to sit at the edge of the bed and take a look at how things were progressing. The young woman was so week she couldn’t stand on her own so both maids help her up and onto the bed. Naeyah sat beside her while Shella wiped away the blood from her thighs and searched the pool on the floor for any possible remains.

“I did… want a babe,” Lady Sansa sobbed softly, resting her head heavily on Naeyah’s shoulder. “But I’d have never been... able to… protect them.”

She took Sansa hand on her and the lady grasped it tightly, tears falling down her face.

“This… was the-the only… thing…” Naeyah turned her face to look at her, noticing how she was slurring the words, “I could…do to… to… pro–protect…”

Naeyah patted Sansa’s face, her eyelids fluttered but otherwise, she was unresponsive.

“Shella!?” She frantically called the other maid, who looked up with worry.

“She just- fainted.” The other one stated though her voice failed at the end.

The younger maid arranged the lady’s body on the bed.

“I’ll run,” She said, getting up.

“Wai’– not–“ For the second time someone stopped her from getting the help Lady Sansa so much needed.

“You’ve said she needs–”

“I know.” Shella cut her in impatiently. “Bu’ we ‘ave to help ourselves too.”

“Ourselves?”

“She isn’t wrong.” She interrupted her again, too anxious to wait. “Abut the Lannisters, I mean. Wha they did to ‘er family…”

“What are you saying?” Naeyah pressed her.

“They ‘ere highborn,” Shella explained, lowering her voice as if afraid someone would listen her condemnation, even though they were all alone. “Guest right is _sacred_ in Westeros Naeyah, bu’ they broke it and butchered ‘hem.”

“What that has to do with us?” Naeyah insisted.

“Wha do you think they’ll do to us when they find _this_?” Shella hissed, showing her the empty bottle of moon tea.

“But we didn’t–”

“They’ll say we helped ‘er rid of de babe” The older maid assured her. “We’ll hang or– worse.”

“You don’t mean we– we _leave_ her, do you?” Naeyah asked, horrified at the notion.

“No, _no_ ,” Shella rejected the idea. “Bu we ‘ave to get rid of _this_ ” She held up the glass container. “and we _can’t_ tell _anyone_ abou’it.”

“But–” But the lady might bleed out, Naeyah realized. If the medicine man or the midwife thought it was just a natural occurrence, Lady Sansa might bleed out from the moon tea even with help.

“I know.” Shella nodded, pressing her lips fearfully, she got closer and grasped Naeyah's hands. “Bu’ think abou’ me daughter, she’s already lost ‘er father. Think abou’ our fates, Naeyah.”

“She’s been good to us.” She argued, tears pooling in her eyes. "She helped us both."

“I know, it tears me too,” The older woman agreed, glancing back at Sansa's figure lying unconscious on the bed. “bu’ she’s not really – she’s not our friend. We work for 'er, that's- that's i'.”

"I-" Naeyah knew Shella was right. Lady Sansa was not her friend, no matter how grateful she felt or how good she had been to them.

Naeyah finally nodded, defeated. She blinked away her tears and left the lady's chambers to run for help.

Shella took the empty bottle, walk over to the balcony a threw it over the railing,

The evidence sinking dozens of feet under the sea.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... all of you who feared the maids will betray Sansa were somewhat right. They kinda betrayed her but not to Cersei.  
> And those who feared for the babe survival were also right, but I did tag it.  
> I hope you didn't hate it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,  
> I hope all of you are ok and safe.  
> I was part-time working and studying for a public examination when I published the last chapter -in January- so I was very busy, but then a _fucking pandemic!_ I didn't see that coming.  
> For all of you who don't know I'm a Spaniard from Madrid, we were hit hard by the COVID and we were in hard lockdown since the beginning of March. You'd thought being forced to be at home would be productive, it wasn't. My mom is in the high-risk group, so my anxiety had been over the roof.  
> We bent the _fucking curve_ at the end of April and we've started the de-escalation a few weeks ago. I was finally in a good headspace to write, so I resumed the chapter where I left it, but it's been uncommonly hard to write, like pulling out a tooth. Anyway, I refuse to keep re-writing it, I prefer to move on and start writing the next few chapters.  
> I hope, *fingers crossed here* I'll be able to post the next chapter in 2 or 3 weeks, but who knows, we might get hit by an asteroid.

**Maester Creylen**

He was slightly rocking on a chair by the fire, he had moved the furniture, so the chair faced the bed instead of the balcony. The two lady’s maids were dozing by the bedside, he let them since he was wide awake and there was nothing for them to do at the present moment.

The next few hours were crucial, but there was nothing anyone could do but to wait and pray.

His eyes zeroed in on a barely visible stain on the floor where a pudle of blood had been where the Essoi maid had brought him in. He wasn’t even sure if the stain was still there or it was just in his mind eye, only because the facts didn’t add up.

_Too much blood._

That was the first thought he had when he came into the room and was the same one that kept bothering him.

_< <Earlier miscarriages are so frequent most women didn’t even notice them.>>_

He remembered reading that during his training at the Citadel. Healing had been his predilect subject back then, earning two silver links on his chain. Though a vital part of their duties, not many Maesters found childbirth and womenfolk’s health much worthy of their time and interest.

He had.

Casterly Rock was a great position, but he had secretly resented it for years, considering there had been no lady to take care since before he had been sent here to serve. Truthfully, the Citadel, as well as many others, had expected Lord Tywin to take a second wife for years, especially after Ser Jaime had donned the white cloth. However, and quite out of character for such a strategical mind, Lord Tywin had never wedded again.

Maester Creylen had been appointed to Casterly Rock shortly after the Rebellion, hence he had been an observant of how much Tyrion and his Lord father despised each other, yet both of them – in their own manner – cared about Ser Jaime. So, even with his reputation as the Kingslayer, the Maester had expected to be dazed by the man when he finally met him, a few years after his appointment. He, however, had been disappointed by the arrogant, uncaring man he met during a royal visit to Casterly Rock. Their scarce meetings the following years had only cemented such impressions about Ser Jaime’s character, he had a sharp mind but lacked the patience to be a political man like his father, he barely cared about anyone else other than himself, save for his siblings and yet he let them rip each other apart.

Therefore, Creylen had been perplexed by the man that had arrived at Casterly Rock a few months back, as the now, heir of the Warden of the West. The arrogance had mostly vanished, replaced by dry self-deprecation, he was now somewhat aware of the people around him, but what astounded him the most was that Ser Jaime seemed to care for the new Lady Lannister, in some degree.

And yet, his reaction to the knowledge of Lady Sansa’s misfortune had been somehow lacking.

* * *

When the Essoi maid had dragged Creylen into the lady’s chamber, Lady Sansa had been already unconscious, thus he had feared the worst. He had hurried to soak a sponge in water and pressing it against the girl’s lips. She didn’t suck on it, but she reflexively swallowed the liquid, which gave him a chance to save the girl’s life.

The Maester wasted no time in preparing a tonic of pomegranate flowers, myrtle berries and reedmace pollen with hot spring water and forced her to drink it with the sponge. She ordered the Essoi maid to keep giving it to Lady Sansa and the other maid to clean off the blood from the lady’s body with a vinegar solution, while he readied a mixture of watered clay, stinging nettle’s and yarrow’s leaves.

“I wash'd de blood away, Maester.” The Riverlander maid announced.

The young lady’s body was splayed on the bed, her nightgown rolled up her waist, while the maid kept rubbing a wet cloth against her skin.

“Can you see any wounds?” He asked her.

“Woun’s?” The riverwoman repeated at lost.

“Yes, yes, girl,” The Maester insisted while he ground his drugs with the mortar. “There is too much blood for a natural occurrence.”

Focused on his task the Maester didn’t see the panicked glance the Essoi maid cast upon the riverwoman, only the sharp shake of the head from the later.

“I see no woun’s.” She replied confidently.

“Hmmm,” the Maester meditated. “Take this, keep stirring it.” He ordered her, placing the mortar on her hands.

He walked to the other side of the grand feather bed and sat on it. He soaked his hands in the vinegar solution before approaching the lady. The bleeding had almost stopped, and he couldn’t see any external wounds or feel any signs of a puncture or other common injuries in the lady’s womanhood.

“The poultice should be ready,” He muttered to himself, reaching out to the mixture on the maid’s hands. “Hand me the linen cloth,” He ordered to her.

The Maester stood up and strained the concoction, obtaining a potion and a poultice. He ordered the maid to clean the lady’s once again, now with the potion, while he prepared a wound dressing with the remains. Once he was finished, he commanded both maids to ready the usual moonblood’s cloths and sorted the lady with them and the poultice he had prepared.

The sounds of voices outside the main door startled him while he was checking his patient’s breath and pulse. The riverwoman rushed to lower the lady’s bloody nightgown in what he supposed was an attempt to preserve her modesty from the incoming visitors.

It turned out to be Ser Jaime arguing with the servants Maester Creylen had called for when the maid had informed him of Lady Sansa’s ailment.

“Creylen! What is—?” Ser Jaime’s voice commanded, bursting the door open. He froze at the sight of the ashen, bloody picture of a lifeless Lady Sansa laying on the bed. “Is she—?”

The Maester pushed him and the other servants out of the door, he nodded to the lady’s maids, so they’d finish taking care of the girl. He closed the door behind him and with an imposing stare, the servants around them scurried out of sight.

“Lady Sansa is in a bad condition, I’m afraid.” He informed Ser Jaime with a soft voice, once they were alone.

“What happened to her?” He asked frowning, his stance tense.

The Maester cleared his throat wriggling his hands, gaining some time to enunciate his thoughts. It was a sensitive matter and he didn’t have all the facts.

“It seems Lady Sansa may have suffered… - a miscarriage, Ser.” He disclosed at last.

“A mis–miscarriage?” Ser Jaime stuttered, his eyebrows arching in surprise. If the Maester had any doubts about the man's awareness of his wife condition, his utter shock would have removed them.

“I gather you weren’t aware of the… possibility of a child.” Maester Creylen acknowledged.

“No…” Ser Jaime shook his head speechless, then he breathed in slowly. “It was… it wasn’t impossible, but no… I wasn’t - _aware_.”

“I’m unable to confirm it either, Ser Jaime.” He explained. “Lady Sansa didn’t consult with me, but from what her lady’s maids had told me, it is very likely.”

“But… she had lost it.” He established.

“I… yes, Ser.” The Maester nodded. “If there was indeed a child, it couldn’t possibly survive.”

“But how–why?” He questioned muddled and incoherently.

“Her grief, the exertion she had submitted herself to…" The Maester explained, but he knew it could happen without an apparent cause if it was indeed a natural occurrence at all. "It’s difficult to say what may have been the cause.” 

“And… Lady–the lady?” Ser Jaime corrected himself at the last moment, as he was trying to appear more detached than he was.

“As I’ve said, she is in a bad condition, Ser.” The Maester shook his head. “She lost quite a lot of blood. I’ve treated her at the best of my abilities—”

“Is she going to die?” He cut in short-tempered and abrasively.

“She has a… chance, but is not…” He shook his head discouragingly. “If she pulled through the night, she might.”

“I… see.” Ser Jaime nodded stiffly. “I’ll see her now.”

The Maester hesitated momentarily.

It would be less appalling if Ser Jaime would let them prepare the Lady and clean the room to be seen, but the man commanding voice hadn’t left any room for such suggestions, so he merely nodded and popped his head into the room.

The maids had finished sorting Lady Sansa with the poultice and rags, but they hadn’t had time to change the sheets or the lady’s nightgown and no other servant had come back to wash the blood from the floor.

“Girls,” Maester Creylen called them, he didn’t have any clue of what the maids’ names were. “Ser Jaime would like a few moments alone with Lady Sansa.”

The two maids shared a look before the older one nodded. They tided up the lady’s gown and covered her with a sheet that though it was wrinkled and dirty, it wasn’t covered in blood. They hurried to the door, where he opened it for them to get out and Ser Jaime to get in. He closed the door after him and turned to the fretting and exhausted maids.

“Came here.” He gestured them, he had moved away from the door and into the hall. He lowered his voice though there was nobody else present. “You said she was already senseless when you two found her?”

The maid looked at each other, but only the riverwoman spoke.

“No.” She shook her head, “She was aw’ken, bu’ only jus'.”

“Did she say something?” He questioned. “To either of you?”

The riverwoman shook her head again, but the Essoi one hesitated.

“Did she say anything to you?” The Maester pressed, the older maid turned to look at her too.

“No” She finally said lowering her eyes. “She was... she was sobbing.”

“I see,” The Maester acknowledged. “What about babes? Did she ever talk to you about it? About wanting one?”

“No… why wuld’ve she?” The riverwoman denied, frowning puzzled. "We're bu' 'er maids."

“Hmm, nothing of consequence,” He belittled the matter with a shrug. “don’t trouble yourselves. Go get the other servants to clean the room.”

The pair nodded and disappeared down the hall.

A moment later the chamber’s door opened. Ser Jaime crossed the threshold, looking upset and lost in thought until he spotted him. He marched towards him with a harsh, belligerent stride that perplexed the Maester. His jaw’s muscle pulsated furiously, his green eyes were stormy, and his fist kept tightening on his side.

What could have caused such a change on his semblance in a matter of a few minutes, the Maester couldn’t say.

“Inform me if there is any… changes in the Lady’s condition.” He grumbled, his teeth clenched, walking briskly by the Maester. “I’ll be at the battlements.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched a little about medicine in ancient history and middle ages, to have a little backbone for Sansa's treatment, but in any case, this is fantasy and fanfiction so don't expect 100% accuracy.  
> I didn't remember Maester Creylen ever be anything else but mentioned as the Maester at Casterly Rock, so everything about his story and personality is mine.  
> Well, let me know what you think :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> I hope you're all safe and taking care of your health and others. :)
> 
> I planned to post this chapter last weekend but I kind of forget, sorry.  
> It's Jaime's POV, it may solve some of your worries about him and Sansa, but probably not all of them. These are still initial/transitioning chapters to prepare for the thick of the plot, so there're some insights to Jaime's state of mind, but nothing too conclusive/revealing yet.  
> Anyway, I hope you like it. ;)

**Jaime**

He swirled the Dornish red wine in his cup. It wasn’t his favourite method for peace of mind, but the ones he had always used – fight and fuck – weren’t much available for him at the moment. So he took a page out of Tyrion’s book – recently Cersei’s too – and try a good, old drink.

He was in his third cup and still didn’t feel like it was working. He kept thinking on the same things he didn’t want to, only – slower.

Nothing like his father’s machinations to knock Jaime to the ground.

He wasn’t a fool, Jaime understood the Stark boy had to go, it could never be a pardon or a Night Watch’s post for the boy, but – _but_ The Red Wedding – that how smallfolk were calling it.

It was a new low for Tywin Lannister if they’d asked Jaime.

Most major northern and riverlander houses went down along with Robb Stark, some were captured but not – not many. The bulk of the survivors were the backstabbers. Jaime supposed, his father thought lands and titles were enough to buy their loyalty to the Iron Throne, but how to hold or trust such fickle loyalty in the long term?

And why – _why_ would his father have forced him to marry Sansa Stark only to grant Winterfell and the North to the Boltons?

He could use some clarity from Tyrion in that area.

His best guess was that by giving the North to the Boltons, the northerners would have a new foe. They’d try to fight them instead of the Crown for a few years before Lord Tywin would take the Boltons out and put a Lannister with Stark blood in their place.

He just didn’t know how well the northerners would take a Lannister for their liege lord after being responsible for the deaths of the two former Stark’s, no matter how much northern blood he might have.

Jaime took a new gulp of wine when his mind conjured Sansa’s face after reading the news from The Twins. He wondered if the news had been better taken, such her brother would have found his demise in battle.

<< _But it hasn’t been just her brother, has he?_ >>

The voice in his head sounded dangerously close to Catelyn Stark, which prompted a new whole cup of wine.

She might have been spared if the Northmen would have been defeated in battle.

<< _Would she, though?_ >> The new voice was definitively dornish and was accompanied by the memory of a little girl running around the Red Keep chasing after a black cat.

Jaime took the bottle and drank until he passed out.

* * *

He woke up hours later with a foul taste in his mouth and feeling even worse than when he started drinking. He got up and stretch his neck to the sides, trying to get rid of the stiffness. He searched for the pitch of water sitting on a table at the corner of his father study. He served himself a cup and took a large gulp, then a second one to wash his mouth.

Jaime looked at the window to find the sun high up on the sky, the midmorning had already passed. He sighed heavily; he was supposed to meet Ser Benedict at the bailey this very afternoon. Jaime composed his attire at the best of his ability and left the room with resignation.

He got passed by two servant girls in the corridor carrying buckets and clean sheets, at an hour they weren’t supposed to be seen. They hurried to the end of the hall where the only possible chambers were the lord and lady. He found it so odd that he stopped at mid-step and turned around.

“Where are you two going?” He demanded.

The women jumped startled, turning around quickly and curtseying.

“Maester Creylen call, Ser–” “Lady’s room.” They both spoke at the same time.

“Has Lady Sansa worsened?” He asked them.

They looked at each other, then one of them shrugged her shoulders. Jaime shook his head frustrated and walked pass them.

“Ser Jaime!” One of the servants called after him, but he ignored them approaching the Lady’s chamber. He opened the door hastily only to find himself confronted by the Maester’s face.

“Creylen! What is—?” He stopped mid-sentence. Behind the Maester, Sansa was laying on the bed as she had been for days, _but_ – but she looked… “Is she—?” _Dead?_

Creylen herded him away from the door, nodding to Sansa’s maids inside the room. The Maester closed the door behind him and sent the servants in the corridor away.

“Lady Sansa is in a bad condition, I’m afraid.” The man told him once they were alone.

“What happened to her?” Jaime questioned.

The lifeless picture of her now, was different from the previous days, when he had entered her room once she had passed out from the generous doses of dreamwine Creylen kept giving her. She had swollen eyes from crying, she had been pale, weak and bedridden but not – not like _that_.

“It seems Lady Sansa may have suffered… - a miscarriage, Ser.” He finally said.

“A mis–miscarriage?” Ser Jaime stuttered, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

_'She was…did she know she was? She never mentioned anything about being with child_.' The thoughts rushed in his mind.

“I gather you weren’t aware of the… possibility of a child.” Creylen acknowledged.

“No…” Jaime shook his head, not really knowing how to answer.

Sansa never said it, but he didn’t know if she chose not to, if she didn’t find the moment or if she even was aware of it herself. Jaime breathed in slowly, trying to reign over the tumultuous thoughts.

Of course, the possibility had been there, his father had commanded him to breed an heir and he had fought against _the proceedings_ for a few hours before Sansa had said, better to be over with _it_ right away.

He fought against it yet again, after their wedding night. He justified avoiding her due to Cersei’s threats because that was easier than face his true motives, that he had sworn to return Sansa to her mother and instead he had wedded, bedded her and enjoy every single moment of it. And when she had offered herself to him a second time, he – like every other time in his life – had forgotten every caution and motive, to embrace what she was offering and relish on it.

And they had. Relish on each other. Quite frequently.

“It was… it wasn’t impossible,” Jaime explained, no, in fact, it was very, very possible. “but no… I wasn’t - _aware_.”

“I’m unable to confirm it either, Ser Jaime.” The Maester answered. “Lady Sansa didn’t consult with me, but from what her lady’s maids had told me, it is very likely.”

The handmaids who had found them naked and together almost every morrow for the last couple of moons, no mysteries there.

But then.

“But… she had lost it.” Jaime realised.

“I… yes, Ser.” The grey man nodded. “If there was indeed a child, it couldn’t possibly survive.”

“But how–why?” He questioned.

Jaime tried to assert his muddled thoughts. He didn’t think he was particularly distressed with the actual loss of a babe – dozens of them died every other day – and he had never really care that much for the living ones he had already sired. Yet he felt disgruntled and couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

“Her grief, the exertion she had submitted herself to…" The Maester explained. "It’s difficult to say what may have been the cause.”

“And… Lady–the lady?” Jaime corrected himself at the last moment.

“As I’ve said, she is in a bad condition, Ser.” Creylen shook his head. “She lost quite a lot of blood. I’ve treated her at the best of my abilities—”

“Is she going to die?” He cut in short-tempered and abrasively. ' _By the Seven! The man had no fucking clue.'_

“She has a… chance, but is not…” The Maester shook his head discouragingly. “If she pulls through the night, she might.”

“I… see.” He nodded stiffly. Jaime had avowed to protect Sansa Stark not once but twice, and now she was dying because of him. Maybe at some point, he’d finally learn to stop swearing vows or any kind. “I’ll see her now.”

* * *

Once he stepped into the room, Creylen closed the door behind him. It didn’t matter how big the lady’s chamber was, the sweet metal scent of blood filled the air anyway.

Sansa was unconscious on the bed, covered with a sheet that didn’t quite hide the stains of blood of her nightgown. He wondered for a second if the maids covered her to protect his sensibilities and he almost laughed.

Jaime walked towards the imposing bed, stopping at the nearest side. Her semblance was even worse at a closer distance.

She just – she looked _dead_.

He sat at the edge of the bed looking at Sansa. It took a minute to confirm that she was indeed breathing, barely but – still. She looked younger and smaller, her face ashen, her lips white.

They did this to her, his father and him.

_< < _ _As you both did to others before. >> _

The gentle dornish voice in his head reminded him.

She was right, of course.

Sansa’s right hand was curled and resting at her side, his left one hovered awkwardly over it until he finally placed over hers.

It was cold.

“I –I…” ' _I’m sorry, so sorry_.'

He cloaked her under Lannister’s colours and promised her protection, instead – instead, another vow broken.

Jaime squeezed her hand, a futile gesture of comfort. He frowned when he realised there was something in her fist. He uncurled her cold fingers to find a small cork on her palm.

Perplexed by the discover, Jaime took the small cork between his fingers. The inner side was stained with a dark yellow substance. He played with it between his fingers, while a worrisome thought flourished in his mind.

Finally, he brought it closer and took a whiff. The scent was pungent, flowery and bitter. He lived half his life in Court, more than enough to recognise the unmistakable aroma of moon tea.

Jaime froze at the realization.

_'Moon tea, moon tea, moon tea… she knew_.'

His fingers curled around the cork, closing his fist until his knuckles turned white. It hadn’t been an accident – a miscarriage.

A spark of fury started at the pit of his stomach, unfurling a heat that clawed its way up to his throat until he was so irrationally angry that he got up from the bed, practically jumping, crossed the room and get out as if something – _someone_ was after him.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... Jaime leaving angrily at the end of the last chapter was because he realised Sansa took moon tea. :shook:
> 
> Leave me a comment and tell me what you think, I'll try to reply all of them ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!  
> I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner, the chapter was mocking me and I edited it a few times. It's short but I just wanted to post it already.  
> The next couple of chapters are the ones I'm really excited about and if I keep dragging this one I'll never get to them. I'll try to update in 2-3 weeks but I don't know how busy I'll be so I can't really promise, sorry.

**Sansa**

_She thought she was sleeping but she wasn’t sure anymore._

_Sometimes she was in Winterfell sat with Jayne Poole and Septa Mordane doing needlework and it all seemed ordinary, then she’d move her eyes just a fraction and they’d turn into corpses._

_Dead hands that grabbed her skirts and hands and demanded answers out of her._

_Other times she was on her parents’ bed, cocooned between the two of them, warm and safe. Then her father would turn to look at her and his head would fell off his body, splashing her face with warm blood. Sansa’d tried to scream, only to be muffled by the wet, cold hands of her mother corpse._

_“She betrayed us, mother.” Rob voice would say, coming out of Greywind's dead head sewed into her brother body, standing at the entrance of the chamber._

_A few times when Sansa fought against her mother dead embrace, she would see other things._

_A different, bigger room. A grey man staring down at her. Familiar female faces around her, caressing her._

_But it never lasted, sooner or later she was back with her dead family._

* * *

There was a hand on her face forcing her eyes open. She saw a red cloth above her and a greyish man looking down at her.

There were more people, moving around, out of her peripheral vision. The man said something she didn’t understand, something she didn’t know if it was meant for her or another.

Somehow, she knew this was different from her visions, but before she could know what was happening, her eyes started to become heavy and the dark reclaimed her.

* * *

The next time, someone was placing a cup of liquid against her lips.

She opened her eyes to see one of her lady maids encouraging her to drink it. It wasn’t water, but medicine mixed with something sweet.

Sansa took it all and closed her eyes again.

The dead awaiting her.

* * *

The pattern repeated again and again.

She was giving something to drink, or she was being washed or examined or just looked at.

And every time, she only managed to stay awake for a few moments, before the nightmares claimed her.

* * *

The light was hurting her eyes, forced her to open them.

She saw the sky, clear blue when she finally did. Her head rolled to the side, it felt heavy and her neck in pain. For the first time, there was a distinctive, sharp quality to her senses.

The grey man was sitting on a chair at the side of the bed, he was staring at her and smiling.

“Wellcome back, Lady Sansa.” He spoke softly.

He was a Maester, not Maester Luwin or Grand Maester Pycelle, but the one from Casterly Rock.

“What–” She rasped, her throat so dry that it hurt.

“You’ve been in a very poor condition for several days, my lady.” The Maester explained calmly, “The Stranger almost took you.”

Sansa squinted at him, her mind still too cloudy to recall the events prior to waking up.

“Unfortunately, it did take your child,” The Maester continued, staring at her with keen eyes.

And just like that, everything came back to her.

The murder of Robb and her mother. The discovery of how she had been betrayed once again by another Lannister. The realisation of the despicable Lannister’s seed growing inside of her. The brief sudden awareness of what she needed to do.

The vial of moon tea.

She took an unsteady breath, – the moon tea. She was still in the Lady’s chambers, the Maester tending to her, his eyes were keen but not condemning. She had committed a heinous sin against The Mother and worst, _against the Lannisters_ , yet she wasn’t chained, she wasn’t in a dungeon or an execution block.

“It’s not uncommon for womenfolk to lose a babe so early,” The Maester talked beside her, he kindly patted her hand on the bed, and she knew – _she knew_.

Somehow, she didn’t know how, he – they – didn’t know what she did. They thought she had a miscarriage.

Their ignorance made her irrationally angry, her whole body trembling with silent rage.

She wanted to spat at the face of the stupid man that she didn’t lose anything. She wasn’t a pitiful, half-witted maid, not anymore. _She_ had murdered the monster, smothered it in the womb before it had even the chance to be born, just like you'd kill the vermin. Another Joffrey wouldn’t be born from her flesh and blood, she wouldn’t carry such abomination.

“Don’t fret, my lady,” The Maester tried to comfort her, mistaking her trembling figure for grief, instead of ire. “My examination didn’t find any lasting damage. There is no cause for you not to get with child again.”

‘ _No, if I had anything to say_.’ They’d have to kill her before she’d birth a Lannister babe. _He_ would have to force her before she ever let one of the murderers of her mother touch her again.

She bit her lips, forcing herself to stay silent. She wanted to scream what she had done, saw their faces when they knew what their little bird did, but her rational self instructed her to swallow her words. Somehow, she hadn’t been found out, they didn’t know she had killed their precious heir.

She was safe for the time being.

“You’ll have to keep bed rest for at least a sennight, my lady,” The Maester informed her, “just to be sure. Your bleeding was uncommonly severe, and you’ve been unconscious for several days.”

She nodded silently, whatever the man needed to leave her alone with her grief and anger. He kept talking for a while though, explaining to her how she would have to take care of herself, how often he would give her potions and a special diet of liver stew and blood soup she’d have to follow until she regained her strength.

At least it would give her time to think what to do.

* * *

For days, she only got out of bed to empty her bladder in a chamber pot and even just that, it took her every strength she had. Mostly she spent her days sleeping or reading. It took her over a sennnight to be able to walk the few steps from the bed to the balcony and another one to be able to leave her room.

It all that time she never got to see him. He never visited her, which confirmed his crimes in Sansa’s eyes.

**TBC**


End file.
